


Knock Knock

by consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fairly Light-hearted, Human Names Used, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Murder, Romance, Serial Killers, cameos by other characters, not dark at all, serialkiller!Ivan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-06-22
Packaged: 2018-11-17 05:28:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11268867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective/pseuds/consulting_vulcan_jedi_detective
Summary: "Hi, I just moved into the house down the street," says the serial killer with a smile. He's a friendly killer."Oh, come right on in!" says the poor fool soul who's (probably) about to die.(Or, in which some people are just unfortunate, and others end up...getting lucky.)





	Knock Knock

“Hi, I just moved into the house down the street. I hope I’m not bothering you,” the man says, smiling.

Francis shakes his head. “Oh, of course not!” he assures. “I’ve been meaning to come over with some of my homemade pastries,” he says, grinning. “My cakes are world-famous.”

“Oh, wonderful,” the newcomer says. “I don’t think we’ve met yet, and I wanted to introduce myself, plus,” he says, looking sheepish, “I haven’t gotten the air conditioning working at my place yet, and it’s so _hot_ here. I’m not used to this summer weather. I moved here from Russia. I’ve lived there for most of my life.”

Francis opens the door wider. “Russia? I knew I heard a cute little accent in there,” he says, grin widening. “I’m Francis, by the way. Francis Bonnefoy.”

The new neighbor offers his hand. “Ilya Arlovsky. It’s not too bad, is it? I’ve been working on my English for a long time,” he says, looking a little nervous.

“No, no, it’s barely noticeable,” Francis assures him. “Won’t you come in? I’d love to share the air conditioning, and we can chat, as long as you’ll eat some of what I have in the oven.”

“Thanks,” Ilya says gratefully. He follows Francis inside. “What are you cooking?”

“Baking,” Francis corrects. “I’m baking clafoutis. It should be ready soon.” He walks into the kitchen.

“What?” Ilya asks confusedly, trailing. “Clafu—sorry, is that French?”

Francis laughs. “You’re cute,” he says. “It’s kind of like a cross between a pie and a cake, I guess, with cherries inside. This is my Grand-maman’s recipe. You’ll simply _die_ when you taste it.”

“Sounds great,” Ilya says, smiling. He looks around. “You have pretty kitchen towels,” he comments, lifting a rose-patterned one from its rack.

“Also my Grand-maman’s. She gave me a lot of her kitchen things. Now, stay back,” Francis instructs. “The oven’s hot, you know.” He opens the oven door and bends toward it. “Hm, not quite ready.”

The kitchen knife punches through the side of his neck as he is straightening, killing him before he can even scream. Blood from the carotid spurts brightly as the murderer pulls it out and casually tosses it into the sink.

 _Ilya_ gazes down at Francis, watching his body twitch in its death throes. He smiles to himself, stepping back to keep his shoes out of the spreading pool of blood. He’ll already have to get rid of the clothes, but he has more clothes than shoes.

He takes the clafoutis out of the oven before he goes so it doesn’t burn, snags a piece to try, turns the faucet on until the sink is half full, drops the towel and the pie cutter in the sink.

The cake thing really is good. He doesn’t drop a crumb.

~

_Ghost Killer Strikes Again_ is the headline on the newspaper.

“Scary stuff,” Ivan says as he buys his copy.

The salesman shakes his head, clicking his tongue. “Yeah, man. I don’t know how this kind of thing can still happen in this day and age, y’know?”

Ivan nods. “Really horrible.”

He takes the newspaper into a nearby café and orders a coffee to drink while he does the crossword. The Ghost Killer story is on the television, too. After a few minutes, he folds the newspaper and watches the screen.

A pretty blond woman is talking very seriously into a camera. “Police report that there was no sign of a break-in and the killer, as usual, left no clues about his identity. Evidence indicates that he used only what was already present in the house, both to attack the victim and to minimize traces, like fingerprints. The victim, again, had no obvious link to any of the previous homicides connected with the Ghost Killer, but the detective in charge of the investigation, Lieutenant Elizabeth Héderváry, is confident that, with this latest victim, the police department will soon be able to find the pattern and catch the killer.”

Ivan sips leisurely at his coffee, taking his time as he watches the news with mild interest. When he’s finished, he waves to the waitress, recycles the newspaper, and goes home.

~

“Hi, I’m Alex. I’m new to the area and I was hoping to get to know my new neighbors,” the tall man says, smiling. He has a good smile. He’s actually kind of hot, Alfred thinks, with longish light-colored hair and gorgeous eyes and a nice build.

Alfred grins back. “New, huh? You buy that place at the corner?”

“Yeah. We aren’t actually moved in yet, but I’m taking care of my old aunt, who’s living with me, and she’s all kinds of paranoid. I told her I’d check the neighbors out for her,” Alex says, laughing a little self-consciously.

“Wow. I live alone, and I’m already too much for me to handle,” Alfred jokes. “My name’s Alfred Jones. I’ve been living here for a few years. It’s a nice neighborhood. I’m sure your aunt will like us fine.”

Alex nods. “She’s a little crazy to live with sometimes, but I don’t mind, really. And I’m glad I got the chance to check you out.” He flushes then. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.” A faint accent colors his voice. Russian, Alfred thinks. It’s pretty hot.

“No worries, man,” Alfred says. “You know, I was actually thinking pretty much the same thing about you.” He holds his breath, hoping that he hasn’t read the situation wrong.

Alex bites his lip, blushing harder. “Really?” he asks. He’s fucking cute when he’s being coy.

“Totally,” Alfred says enthusiastically. “Listen, you wanna come in? Do you play video games? I have like everything _Halo_.”

“Yeah, I play,” Alex admits. “I don’t get friends over that much, though, with my aunt, you know?”

“Okay, we need to play, then, definitely,” Alfred decides, tugging Alex inside and shutting the door. He leads him to the living room and turns the Xbox on, tossing two controllers onto the couch.

They sit down beside one another. “You don’t mind playing this again?” Alex asks as they begin the game.

Alfred shakes his head. “Nah, it’s more about the bonding experience, you know?” He grins and nudges Alex, who smiles back.

They play for an hour or so before Alfred pauses the game and asks Alex if he wants something to drink.

The other man tilts his head uncertainly. “What do you have?” he asks.

“Here, we’ll go look at the fridge,” Alfred says, going to the kitchen. Alex follows behind him. Alfred opens the refrigerator, enjoying the blast of cold air. “Okay, looks like I haven’t gone to the store lately, so there’s no beer, just Coke and orange juice.”

Alex leans in, looking. “I’m not really a beer guy, myself,” he offers. “Coke sounds fine.”

Alfred lifts his eyebrows. “Alex, all guys are beer guys,” he says in mock reproach. He grabs two Cokes and steps back. Alex shuts the refrigerator for him, and they return to the living room.

“Ah, damn,” Alfred says as they sit. He’s struggling with the tab. “I just trimmed my nails, and my fingers are too fat.”

Alex scoots closer. “Want me to try?” he asks. He reaches over, takes the can, and pops the tab quickly.

“Thanks, man.”

They sip in silence for a short while, and then Alex sets his can down. He runs his tongue along the top of his lip to catch the drops of soda there, just a little too slowly. Alfred watches. Alex looks at him then, and Alfred realizes that he’s been staring. He sets his can down on the side table. “Hey, um,” he starts nervously, leaning toward the other man. “Do you wanna—”

Alex meets him halfway, catching Alfred’s lips in his own and cradling his head in his hands. Alfred responds automatically, leaning further in and wrapping his arms around the taller guy’s shoulders. He can feel his muscles, thinks, _nice_ , before all he is thinking about is Alex’s lips on his. He tastes like cool mint and kisses like he knows what he’s doing. Alfred moans into his mouth, and in response, he feels the tip of Alex’s tongue prodding for entrance, which he welcomes. He teases it with his own before nipping at it cautiously, making the other man groan softly.

After a moment, Alex pulls back, sighing a little. He puts his hands on the sides of Alfred’s face.

“Something wrong?” Alfred asks, suddenly worried that he’s made some mistake. Maybe Alex doesn’t like teeth, or something.

“Oh, no,” Alex assures him. His thumb strokes down Alfred’s cheek. He sighs again. “You’re too cute to kill,” he says, a little wistfully.

Alfred stares at him. “What?” he manages to say. “What the hell?”

“Anyway, there’s already been DNA swap,” Alex says, shrugging. “Can’t take the risk.”

“You’re fucking serious,” Alfred says, scrambling away in horror. “Oh God, you really didn’t buy the house down the street, did you?”

Alex smiles sheepishly. “No,” he says.

Alfred backs up to the edge of the room, pointing at him in accusation. “Are you the fucking _Ghost Killer?_ ”

“Yes,” Alex admits. He looks so normal, just sitting there on the couch.

Alfred covers his mouth with a hand. “Oh my God,” he says hoarsely, thinking, _I kissed a serial killer_. He stares at the other man for another second before bolting for the front door.

 _Alex_ sighs one last time, thoughtfully. He returns Alfred’s knife to its block in the kitchen, tosses the paper towel he’d used to hold it in the trash, and leaves through the now-open door.

~

“Bloody hell,” Alfred’s friend and next-door neighbor, Arthur, says, as they watch the EMTs carry two stretchers out of the house at the corner.

“Yeah,” Alfred says numbly. It’s been a month since the newlywed Beilschmidts moved in, five weeks since he wasn’t murdered by a hottie with homicidal tendencies.

“Well,” Arthur says after a pause, “At least they say that he never strikes in the same neighborhood twice.” He’s a single dad with a kid, and he’s a pragmatic person. He probably thinks that it’s sad, what happened, but at least it wasn’t his Peter who caught the killer’s eye.

Alfred nods absently. “You think it’s _him_ , for sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Arthur says. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe they still haven’t caught him.”

“Yeah,” Alfred says. “Yeah, I can’t believe it, either.”

~

There’s someone knocking at the front of the house.

Alfred opens the door to find a smiling killer standing on his step. He’s holding _flowers_.

Alfred has stepped back involuntarily. He collects himself. “What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, gripping the edge of the door.

The Ghost Killer, whose name is probably not Alex, shrugs. “I just wanted to get to know my new neighbors,” he says.

Alfred gapes at him. “Are you fucking brain damaged?” He probably is, actually. “You tried that one on me last time. Get out of here before I call the police,” he says, trying to sound strict, but it’s kind of hard. Usually, when he’s talking to hot guys, he’s flirting, not trying to beat them off.

The other man raises his eyebrows. “I actually did move in to the house on the corner, actually,” he says.

Alfred stares. “ _What?_ ” he says finally. “You—you bought the house? By yourself?”

“ _You_ live by yourself,” the killer points out.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but this house belongs to my parents. I rent it from them,” Alfred snaps.

The man nods. “Yes, I know,” he says. He shrugs. “I always do my research before I choose a target.” His eyes widen then, and he says, “Oh, I can’t believe I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Ivan. Ivan Braginsky.” He sticks his hand out.

Alfred’s eyes widen. He doesn’t take the offered hand. “I cannot believe this,” he says, half to himself. He doesn’t know why he’s still talking to this guy. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t called the police the day he’d met the killer. It might be because said killer is really fucking sexy. It’s probably that. “Where do _you_ find the money to buy a house?” He supposes that he must have gotten a really good price for it, since most people don’t want to live in a house where people have been murdered. But still, a whole house?

Ivan—if that’s really his real name—looks offended. “I do have a job. I work in tech. I get paid quite well. Also,” he adds, “My parents left me their money when they died.”

Alfred blanches. “You killed your parents for money?”

“Of course not,” Ivan says, frowning. “My father had heart problems, and my mother was killed by a drunk driver, not that that’s any of _your_ business. Can I come in? It’s really hot out here.”

“Can you—wow, are you for real?” Alfred asks incredulously. “Why would I let you into my house?”

Ivan shrugs. “Well, actually, I came over here to ask you out,” he says, producing movie tickets with his free hand, “but the flowers won’t do very well in the heat.” He presents them to Alfred, who just stares at them, and then at Ivan.

“I can’t take these,” he says flatly. His head is spinning. The world is not making any sense today.

“They’re just flowers,” Ivan assures him, smiling. “Come on, just one date? I promise I’m not weird or anything.”

Not weird, yeah. Alfred takes the flowers in bewilderment. “Okay, first of all,” he says with a deep breath, pulling himself together, “You’re a serial killer.”

“True,” Ivan says, biting his lip, “But I’m not going to kill _you_.”

“How am I supposed to know that?” Alfred asks agitatedly.

“I’m your neighbor now, and as the saying goes, I don’t shit where I eat,” Ivan says casually.

Alfred swallows. “Oh. Okay,” he says. “Well, secondly, then, we don’t even know each other.” He can’t believe that he’s actually saying this.

“We’ve played _Halo_ and we’ve made out,” Ivan counters quickly. “Movies are public, anyway. It’s not like I’m inviting you into my bed,” he says with a sly smile.

Alfred flushes involuntarily at that thought. “What—what’s the movie?” he asks, just to change the subject, before he realizes that it sounds like he’s agreeing to the date. He reddens even more.

“It’s the new _Star Trek_ movie,” Ivan says enthusiastically. “I’m more a fan of the older series, but the trailer looks pretty decent. I hope you like sci-fi.”

“Oh! Yeah,” Alfred says in surprise. He’s been meaning to watch that one for a while. “Yeah, I love sci-fi. Space stuff is the best,” he blurts before he can catch himself.

Ivan’s eyes widen. “I know, isn’t it?” He smiles. “I knew I liked you,” he says cheerfully. “I have a medium-sized telescope, myself. It isn’t unpacked yet, but when I have it reassembled, you could come over to my backyard some time to use it, if you’d like,” he suggests.

“Really?” Alfred asks eagerly. “I mean, no!” He wants to bang his head against the doorframe. “I mean, stay right here and I’ll go put the flowers in a vase,” he says, wavering.

“Sure,” Ivan says. “I’ll just stand here and continue to sweat it out in the heat.”

Alfred shakes his head. “You are _not_ coming in,” he says firmly, before walking to find a vase, watching Ivan over his shoulder. The flowers really are nice, irises and white daises and a few big, bold sunflowers. They’re not uncomfortably romantic or pushy. Alfred actually likes them a lot, but considering where they came from, he still feels kind of uneasy about putting them in his house. He does, anyway, and returns to the door.

Ivan is swinging car keys on his finger. “So, are you coming?” he asks.

Alfred only hesitates for a moment before he thinks, _Screw it, it’s just a movie_ , and nods.

Ivan smiles brilliantly. “Great. I’ll drive,” he says, and Alfred follows him out of the house.

~

“You two are so sweet together,” Arthur says, sounding a little envious. “I suppose something good did come out of that Ghost Killer thing that happened at his house, didn’t it?”

Alfred jumps. “Huh? Oh, yeah,” he says. _He killed the poor people who lived there so that he could move in and date me_ , he doesn’t say. His eyes catch on the clock on Arthur’s wall. “Oh, wow, time really flies. We’re going out to dinner in five. I was going to walk to his house,” Alfred says, getting up.

“Have fun,” Arthur says.

Alfred waves as he goes. “Thanks. Nice to see you again, Peter,” he says to the kid.

Outside, the autumn colors of the trees are bright and beautiful. There’s a nice evening breeze as he takes the short walk to Ivan’s house.

He knocks on the door. Hardly five seconds later, it opens, and Ivan is there, smiling.

“Hi, neighbor,” he says affectionately, quickly pecking Alfred on the cheek before they walk together to Ivan’s car.

~

Life is pretty good. Ivan might be a serial killer, but he’s also a really good boyfriend. He’s kind and caring and understanding, and the sex is fantastic, too (and pretty nonviolent, which surprises Alfred).

He doesn’t ask questions like “Did you kill someone today?”, and Ivan keeps pillow talk mostly away from things like “Can you imagine what a slit throat in reduced gravity might look like?”—at least after that one time.

They take turns with Ivan’s telescope, or go to the park at night and lie on the grass to stare at the sky, which is nice. Ivan takes Alfred ice skating, or Alfred takes Ivan to a baseball game, and they end up kissing, which is nice, too.

So, yeah. Life is pretty good. It really is. Alfred’s learned to cherish it.


End file.
